Train Up A Child
by Simply Shelby
Summary: Because raising a child is hardly simple. And training him is something far more difficult. A glimpse into Alex's childhood and how Ian shaped him to be who he is. Drabble series. Chapter Three: Ring in case of emergencies only.
1. On Being Absent and Affectionate

**Train Up A Child  
By Simply Shelby**

'_Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.'  
-Proverbs 22:6_

**On Being Absent and Affectionate**

He awakes blearily to a tickling across his scalp. Scrunching his face to get rid of the bothersome feeling, he realises it is a hand brushing his bangs from his face. Confused, he blinks his eyes open. His bedroom is dark, pitch, so he assumes it is probably early morning. His eyes adjust and focus on the figure standing beside his bed.

"Hey," Ian murmurs, a strange sort of affection tingeing his voice and warming Alex, "I'm home." And Alex freezes because Ian has never been one to state the apparent.

"Mmm… Ian?" Alex rolls on his side to face his uncle.

Ian sits heavily on the open space of mattress with a weary sigh. Alex figures he must be exhausted from his trip. For some reason the boy can't understand, his uncle always returns from business trips worn out and sometimes hurt. And always, when his steely eyes land on Alex, there is something hidden behind that the boy can't make sense of, though he desperately wants to.

"I'm sorry, Alex." And though it is too dark to see his face, Alex hears the words generally linked with regret and isn't sure he's heard quite right.

So, he struggles with the bedclothes in an attempt to sit up so he can hear better, but Ian places a firm hand against his shoulder, holding him back. "You need to go back to sleep," he commands gently, with a glance towards the clock on the bedside table, "You've had a bit of a long day from what I've hear."

The boy sinks back into his mattress in a disappointed huff, "Jack told you?"

Ian allows himself a slight smile. "Would you believe she refused to tell me a thing?" his tone was conspiratorial, "Said you had to be the one to tell me."

His nephew, flesh and blood, smiles back brightly. "We won," he announces proudly.

Pleasantly unsurprised, Ian asks, "Did you? By how much?" And he is struck by how much the boy looks like John. The same smirking mouth, observant eyes, precise manner. His cheekbones are dainter, though, he realises, and there is a bit of Helen in him too.

"Just a goal," he shrugs the win off, "it was a _really_ good match." The boy's voice holds no accusation whatsoever, just pleasure that his uncle is taking an interest in a child's football match. He goes on to tell Ian the play by play, how he scored a goal, how there was one boy on the opposing team that had kicked him in the shin and a thousand other details that made Ian proud.

Over the years, Ian had missed many an important match and had stopped feeling guilty, just as Alex had stopped expecting him to magically appear in the stands. This sudden, middle of the night remorse had Alex confused. It was the first time Ian had ever felt compelled to apologise for his shortcomings as a father figure. "Ian…" he begins hesitantly, finally coming to a conclusion, "I'm twelve. Not two."

He can feel Ian's raised eyebrows. "I'm aware of this."

Alex assumes this is his prompt to continue, "I'm not about to start bawling because you missed one game. You've missed tonnes before. I never cried then."

Ian chokes back a laugh at his nephew's blunt words. "I know." He looks fondly down at his brother's child and resists the urge to ruffle his hair, "I'll take tomorrow off," he offers instead and almost flinches at the surprise written across Alex's face. "Anything particular you'd like to do?"

Alex's mind whirls with the possibilities.

"Something simple, mind," Ian cuts in, rubbing his left shoulder where it had hit a wall with extravagant force the day before and Alex catches the motion and somehow, somehow the teenager understands without Ian saying anything.

"We could go to the park," he suggests somewhat timidly, "And play football? Just you and me?"

Ian nods slowly, "We could."

They both know it will be more than a simple jaunt to the park.

* * *

"That was nice of you."

Ian sighs and closes his nephew's door all the way. Jack. "Despite your opinions about my parenting methods, Alex is my nephew and I do love him." He turns, meeting her eyes pointedly, "I don't enjoy disappointing him."

She was standing at the end of the hall; arms crossed over her pyjamas and her red hair a mass of tangles. "Then why do you?" she was quick to answer. The concept was difficult for her to grasp. But Jack, who'd practically given up her life for a boy she'd hardly known would never understand why he—the boy's uncle and last living, loving relative—couldn't give up one day.

"You do not understand, Jack." Ian voice is soft and void of frustration, "And I cannot explain it to you." He starts towards his bedroom door, pausing only to say, "You might as well take tomorrow. I expect we'll be back late."

Her eyes burn him in a way he finds hard to ignore. "You'll call—"

"—If anything comes up, yes. I highly doubt anything shall. Goodnight, Jack." He closes his bedroom door quietly behind him, as though shutting out all her doubts and accusations.

Still, he had his reasons. That alone sustained him.


	2. On Carnivals and Circumventing

**Train Up A Child  
By Simply Shelby**

'_Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.'  
-Proverbs 22:6_

**On Carnivals and Circumventing**

Tiny hands curled around the collar of his jumper, childish fingernails scratching the back of his neck. Warm drool and the strange sort of sweat children seem to accumulate while they slept was soaking into his clothes.A tuft of wheat blonde hair tickled his chin as Alex snuggled into his shoulder. Ian shifted the boy up in his arms, nudging him back awake.

"Alex? Don't you want to watch?" He nodded toward the stage, where a magician was currently pulling a never-ending handkerchief from a top hat. Ian had figured out how all of the tricks were executed and was now completely bored with the trickster, but he thought Alex might enjoy it. At the very least, more than he'd enjoyed the frightening display of men in puffy suits and face paint. He'd be lucky if the boy didn't have life-spanning fear because of those things.

Sleepy brown eyes looked up at him, struggling to keep from slipping closed. Alex shook his head. "No, thank you," he whispered softly.

"Ready to head home, then?" He passed the stick of fluorescent pink candy floss—he was sure it wasn't anywhere near what he was supposed to be feeding a little boy, but Alex seemed to like it—to his left hand, using his right hand to get a better grip on the boy as he squirmed, trying to get comfortable in his uncle's arms.

"Dankë." Ian had just taught him the polite ways to decline an offer and Alex had adopted the phrases quite quickly, using them for anything and everything. Unfortunately, Ian was never quite sure if he was really saying yes or no.

"Alright." He thought for a moment. "Let's take another ride on the Ferris wheel?"

"Non, merci," his voice was muffled by the ridiculous, striped, stuffed elephant Ian had helped him win at the shooting range game. That moment had been accompanied by a whispered explanation, whispered as to not upset the stall owner, on how the game was inevitably rigged and if you looked close enough you could locate where to aim in order to win. And also by a promise of, "Of course, I'll teach how to really shoot when you're older. Much older."

"Do you like the carnival, Alex? Should we come back again some time?"

"Kekkou desu," was his expected reply, but Ian thought he heard a different sort of intonation in the words; a positive answer, perhaps? Ian figured it was wishful thinking. He'd yet to take his nephew somewhere where he wouldn't fall asleep or request to go home. It was a frustrating process, but the man figured he was eliminating some ideas.

To be honest, he simply wasn't a kid person. He'd never planned on having kids, what with his job, and had planned on spoiling John's kid from a distance. John had been so good with children, he remembered. It might have stemmed from having a younger brother, but John had always seemed so comfortable with children, always knowing what to do, what to say… Ian was determined not to fail his brother and his wife. He would raise Alex.

Although, it wasn't like he had much of a choice.

The skies were dark, but alight with the gaudy, neon colours of the carnival. Shrill sounds of electric games being played, people screaming in terror and out of fun, people laughing at the performances filled Ian's ears. The crowd was starting to die down with the late hour, but there were still enough people that it was easy enough to get lost.

Or to lose a tail.

Ian had spotted the man maybe three minutes ago, catching a reflection as he was walking past the House of Mirrors. He ran through the possibilities of who it could be and came to the conclusion that if it was MI6 checking up on him again, he and Blunt were going to have a little chat about approach.

"Always have an escape plan in mind, Alex," he told the boy, as he took a right, casually but quick enough to catch the man off guard. "Take notice of all the exits of an area. Don't discount third story windows. I'll teach you when you're older how to climb down a building."

He turned the corner and disappeared in the dark space between the stalls. The other man walked right pass. Climbing into a stall full of gaudy, costume jewellery, he smiled at the woman sitting behind the display and she took one look at his face and the boy in his arms and pointed out the route to the backlot.

"You must always anticipate something like this happening, Alex. Never get too comfortable." He supposed the last comment was more of a reproach directed at himself and winced at the thought. "Sometimes shadows can be harmless; just there to watch you and sometimes help you out. However, it's best not to assume because shadows can be dangerous, as well; out to kill you," he jerked at those words and Alex shivered, "Or harm you in some way," he amended.

He continued as he searched his car for any signs of not-quite-rightness. "The key to losing a tail, Alex, is to anticipate. There's really a pattern to a shadow that you have to learn to recognise. From there, it's easy. You don't necessarily need to be familiar with the territory to lose a tail, but I'll admit it helps. That's why you have to observe your surroundings." He frowned. Behind the left rear tyre wasn't exactly the most clever place to place a bomb.

Ian selected a harmless looking mini-van a few cars down and slid open the side door. Buckling Alex into the car seat at the back, he commented, "I know most people like to believe the world revolves around them, but you have to learn to broaden your mindset. You have to think ahead a bit."

Safely away from the carnival and on their way back to Chelsea--in a stolen van--Ian asked, "How did you like your first lesson in circumventing?"

But Alex was fast asleep. His face resting atop that stupid looking elephant and a small smile on his face. At least, Ian hoped it was a smile.

Maybe he wasn't so terrible at this after all.

* * *

**AN: **For all you German-speakers out there, you will know that you can say "Dankë" when refusing an offer. Also, this is a bit movie-verse as I've let Alex learn how to speak Japanese. This idea actually struck me at about two in the morning at a party where I saw a little boy's hand clutching the back of a man's sweater and babbling in French.


	3. On Emergencies and Everyday Codes

**Train Up A Child  
By Simply Shelby**

'_Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old he will not depart from it.'  
-Proverbs 22:6_

**On ****Emergencies and Everyday Codes**

Another normal, dreary day in London, concluded Jack as she worked on finishing up her coursework. Alex should be home from school soon and she should probably put out some midday snack. The boy ate an amazing amount of food for his size, but from what Jack had read that seemed to be normal enough.

A key scraped in the lock and the door slammed. Hard. Jack jumped. The sound of a rucksack being thrown against the floor and full-on crying reached her ears. Alex burst into the kitchen, his face drenched with tears and breathing angrily.

"Alex!" she stood and immediately made her way towards him, unconsciously checking for any signs of bruises or scrapes. Perhaps he'd crashed his bike? Had a run-in with a bully? "What's wrong?" She reached out to hug him.

He wrenched away violently, wet, harsh coughing sounds coming from his throat. "I want Ian!" he demanded, his eyes flashing.

Jack backed off a bit. "Ian's away, Alex. You know that." She crouched down to his level. "What happened?"

He shook his head, long blonde hair whipping around his face. "I want Ian." He was firm on that point. His body was shaking with sobs and a fierce anger. His face was rapidly turning a dark red from the lack of oxygen.

"Alex, you need to calm down," she insisted, "Take a deep breath."

"No!" he yelled and stomped his foot in a fit of annoyance. "I want Ian!"

Jack was grasping at straws, but she didn't care. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do? We could go for an ice cream. Do you want some soda pop? I know you're not allowed, but I think I can make an exception…"

His watery brown eyes were desperate. "I need Ian! It's an emergency!" he declared, fists clenched and breathing shallow.

Jack froze and swallowed. "An… an emergency, Alex?" She glanced over towards the 'phone. "Urgent enough to call?"

Alex nodded his head vigorously. "Mmmhmm."

"Alright…" picking up the 'phone, she dialled the number that Ian had made her memorise, said the right words to the person on the other end, and waited to be connected.

A breathless, slightly terrified Ian answers, "Jack? What's wrong?"

She hesitated. "I have no idea. Alex—"

But, he interrupted. "Oh God! Is he hurt? Is he alright?" When she didn't answer right away, "Jack!"

"Yes, he's fine Ian. Physically okay, from what I can see. But he came home crying and demanding to talk to you. He won't tell me what's wrong." She struggled for words, verging on the edge of panic. "Ian, I've never seen him so upset before."

"Let me talk with him."

She handed the 'phone to Alex, who held it tightly in both hands and pressed his face against it as though it was Ian himself. He was still crying steadily, though his cries had subsided to hiccup-sobs.

"Alex?" Jack could hear Ian's gentle voice, the tension and he anxiety hidden. "Alex? What's gone wrong?"

Alex took a shaky breath before speaking. "Ian?"

"Are you alright, Alex?"

"Do—do you love me?" the words were blurted.

Jack stared in disbelief and tried not to wince at the stunned silence that followed. This was definitely not an emergency. She braced herself for Ian's anger and Alex's reaction.

"Alex Rider." The man's voice was harsh and reprimanding. "This number is for emergencies only. Do you remember what we defined as an emergency?"

The boy held on tighter, his face sinking and his lips trembling. "Y-yes sir."

"Then you know ringing me with something other than an emergency is against the rules. I thought you were seriously in trouble, Alex. You scared me." The words seemed to sting Alex, for he jerked back, holding the 'phone away from his face before reluctantly putting his ear back to it.

"Do you remember what the rules are for, Alex?"

Almost immediately, Alex seemed to straighten up, a small smile lighting up his face and he answered warmly, "Yes, Ian."

Jack breathed a sigh of short-lived relief.

"Good." Ian's voice was frigid. "Instead of free time, you can spend the weekend writing out what we defined as an emergency. In French. Have Jack check your grammar and spelling." His voice hardened, "Do you understand?"

"Yes, Ian."

"Good. Now hang up the 'phone."

Carefully, Alex set it back in its cradle. He turned to Jack slowly, his head downcast, hair covering his eyes. "I have to write a paper," he explained, wiping his face across his sleeve, "because I broke the rules."

Jack had never felt sorrier for the boy. He'd actually broken Ian's tyrannical laws and had been hoping for some loving words from his uncle, but had been given a lecture and a punishment. "I heard. Do you want to tell me what that was all about, Alex?"

The boy shuffled his feet and sighed. She could see a bit of the normal Alex returning. Well, as normal as Alex Rider could be. "Nate and Janie told me that their dad is always away on business trips because he doesn't love them anymore." He shifted uncomfortably. "And Ian's always away on business trips, too…"

"Oh, Alex." She reached out and he willingly returned her hug, burrowing his face into her shoulder. "That doesn't mean he doesn't love you."

He looked up and smiled. "Oh. I know. That's what Ian said."

Jack didn't remember the man saying anything close to that. "When did he say that?" she demanded, bewildered.

The boy shot her an odd look. "Well… he didn't _say_ it, say it."

She pulled back and stood up a bit. "Alex, I don't understand. All I heard was an angry Ian giving you a lecture."

His smile brightened. "It's a sort of code, I think. The rules are there to keep me safe and from getting hurt," he explained.

Jack was still a bit lost.

"Because he loves me."

* * *

**AN:** Just curious and well aware of the conflict this could raise... how many of you out there are Chelsea fans? I'd like to admit that I happen to be one of those. I'm pretty jazzed that Alex is, too. Also, if anyone can direct me to Part Two of Horowitz's 'Christmas at Gunpoint', I'd love you forever.


End file.
